Go to Vegas. Just once. Cram everything you can into a few days. Walk until the skin starts peeling off your feet and it hurts to stand back up. Walk past every restaurant and casino, listening to each song like it’s a soundtrack meant for you. Go into the Bellagio and spend 30 minutes staring at the ceiling. Imagine everyone you see being from somewhere completely different and every so often you see a face you swear you’ve sworn before.
If nothing else, you’ll be completely overstimulated and run down and need to sleep for an entire day just to be somewhat functioning.
But more likely than not, you’ll be restless.
After three days filled to the brim with Vegas, my lower body is practically immobile from walking up and down the strip but I’m itching to work on something. I feel the need to write or paint or something. Maybe something good will come from the most tiring spring break of my life.
Allow me to tell you a bittersweet tale; the tale of an artist warrior known by her kind simply as Suhs. She was a fearsome soldier known to be kind to the seafaring folks of Auburn town and served as sheriff to the parish of Eagle. As a great rumble arose from her kitchen and soul she made the treacherous journey to the market of the poor and weak, run by the evil dictator Wally, know mostly for his trades with the Chinese. She wandered through the market, searching for goods to create concoctions for the rowdy gang of sailors she called friends. As she sauntered through the aisles she picked out a variety of goods, but something still seemed to be missing. She paced back and fourth down the busy rows, when something hit her. Could it be? No, not the unforgivable, unavoidable stench the pervaded her nostrils only the day before. While she was a crafty soldier in the war of taste and talent, she had found a weakness in the Battle of Professor Lewis’ Classroom, known by the few survivors as the day they met the model that cried out in mocking as they tried their best to capture the beast on mere sheets of newsprint. The warrior Suhs ducked down as the ogre passed. She knew her time in the market was limited, but then out of the corner of her eye she saw it; shining like the warm light of a summer afternoon was the bottle of mystic goodness that evaded her since childhood. She had found this source of wonderfulness twice before. Once in passing through a five-storied labyrinth of a marketplace rightfully named after a place military stratagem. The other came as a vision of delight months ago. These moments where but a daydream compared to this victory. She knew what she had to do. She scanned and roamed the aisles again and again, hoping for the source of the magical beverage. As time passed, her search became fruitless and she grew weary. Eventually she surrendered and gathered her goods at the front of the market. Then she loaded up her treasures, including the one bottle of joy, on her trusted stead, Charlie, and headed back to her parish while jovially singing her anthem of “Golddigger”. As she reached the outskirts of her parish, the warrior Suhs was halted by what she assumed was a spy sent from the evil Wally from the Chinese. The spy passed the threshold and charged at the noble warrior, but she did not back down. He noticed her bravery and malice as four letter words echoed through his ear. He passed on, dejected and scared. Triumphant at last, the great warrior Suhs arrived home to the parish of Eagle, ready to unload her goods and inform her sister, in the distant land of cowboys and rodeo clowns, of her conquest.
Or in layman’s terms: went to Wal-Mart. Planned to make treats for my littles in Mariners. Ran int the model from figure drawing (awkward…). Found a bottle of mistic. Couldn’t find anymore. Went home. Almost got hit. Asians can’t drive.
“Masterpieces are not single and solitary births; they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of the people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the single voice.”—Virginia Woolf